The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  And that blond woman, not a Westphalen herself, yet the mother of one. Mother of a child who would soon be the last Westphalen. Mother of a child who must die.

  Am I sane?

  When he thought of the journey he had embarked upon, the destruction he had already wrought, he shuddered. And he was only half done.

  Richard Westphalen had been the first. He had been sacrificed to the rakoshi during Kusum’s stay at the London embassy. He remembered dear Richard: the fear-bulged eyes, the crying, the whimpering, the begging as he cringed before the rakoshi and answered in detail every question Kusum put to him about his aunts and daughter in the United States. He remembered how piteously Richard Westphalen had pleaded for his life, offering anything—even his current consort in his place—if only he would be allowed to live.

  Richard Westphalen had not died honorably and his karma would carry that stain for many incarnations.

  The pleasure Kusum had taken in delivering the screaming Richard Westphalen over to the rakoshi had dismayed him. He was performing a duty. He was not supposed to enjoy it. But he had thought at the time that if all three of the remaining Westphalens were creatures as reprehensible as Richard, fulfilling the vow would be a service to humanity.

  It was not to be so, he had learned. The old woman, Grace Westphalen, had been made of sterner stuff. She had acquitted herself well before fainting. She had been unconscious when Kusum gave her over to the rakoshi.

  But Richard and Grace had been strangers to Kusum. He had seen them only from afar before their sacrifices. He had investigated their personal habits and studied their routines, but he had never come close to them, never spoken to them.

  Tonight he had stood not half a meter from Nellie Paton discussing English chocolates with her. He had found her pleasant and gracious and unassuming. And yet she must die by his design.

  Kusum ground his only fist into his eyes, forcing himself to think about the pearls he had seen around her neck, the jewels on her fingers, the luxurious townhouse she owned, the wealth she commanded, all bought at a terrible price of death and destruction to his family. Nellie Paton’s ignorance of the source of her wealth was of no consequence.

  Avow had been made…

  And the road to a pure karma involved keeping that vow. Though he had fallen along the way, he could make everything right again by being true to his first vow, his vrata. The Goddess had whispered to him in the night. Kali had shown him the way.

  Kusum wondered at the price others had paid—and soon would have to pay—for the purification of his karma. The soiling of that karma had been no one’s fault but his own. He had freely taken a vow of Brahmacharya and for many years had held to a life of chastity and sexual continence. Until…

  His mind shied away from the days that ended his life as a Brahmachari. There were sins—patakas—that stained every life. But he had committed a mahapataka, thoroughly polluting his karma. It was a catastrophic blow to his quest for moksha, the liberation from the karmic wheel. It meant he would suffer greatly before being born again as an evil man of low caste. For he had forsaken his vow of Brahmacharya in the most abominable fashion.

  But the vrata to his father he would not forsake: Although the crime was more than a century in the past, all the descendants of Sir Albert Westphalen must die for it. Only two were left.

  A new noise rose from below. The Mother was scraping on the hatch. She had caught the Scent and wanted to hunt.

  He rose and stepped to his cabin door, then stopped, uncertain of what to do. He knew the Paton woman had received the candies. Before leaving London he had injected each piece with a few drops of the elixir and had left the wrapped and addressed parcel in the care of an embassy secretary to hold until she received word to mail it. And now it had arrived. All would be perfect.

  Except for Jack.

  Jack obviously knew the Westphalens. A startling coincidence but not outlandish when one considered that both the Westphalens and Kusum knew Jack through Burkes at the U.K. Mission. And Jack had apparently come into possession of the small bottle of elixir Kusum had arranged for Grace Westphalen to receive last weekend. Had it been mere chance that he had picked that particular bottle to investigate? From what little Kusum knew of Jack, he doubted it.

  For all the considerable risk Jack represented—his innate intuitive abilities and his capacity and willingness to do physical damage made him a very dangerous man—Kusum was loath to see him come to harm. He was indebted to him for returning the necklace in time. More importantly, Jack was too rare a creature in the Western world—Kusum did not want to be responsible for his extinction. And finally, there was a certain kinship he felt toward the man. He sensed Repairman Jack to be an outcast in his own land, just as Kusum had been in his until recently. True, Kusum had an ever-growing following at home and now moved in the upper circles of India’s diplomatic corps as if he belonged there, but he was still an outcast in his heart. For he would never—could never—be a part of the “new India.”

  The “new India” indeed! Once he had fulfilled his vow he would return home with his rakoshi. And then he would begin the task of transforming the “new India” back into a land true to its heritage.

  He had the time.

  And he had the rakoshi.

  The Mother’s scraping against the hatch door became more insistent. He would have to let her hunt tonight. All he could hope for was that the Paton woman had eaten a piece of the candy and that the Mother would lead her youngling there. He was quite sure Jack had the bottle of elixir, and that he had tasted it some time yesterday—a single drop was enough to draw a rakosh. It was unlikely he would taste it twice. And so it must be the Paton woman who now carried the scent.

  Anticipation filled Kusum as he started below to free the Mother and her youngling.

  13

  They were entwined on the couch, Jack sitting, Kolabati sprawled across him, her hair a dark storm cloud across her face. It was a replay of last night, only this time they hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

  After Kolabati’s initial frightened reaction to seeing him swallow the liquid, Jack had waited to see what she would say. Taking that swig had been a radical move on his part, but he had butted heads against this thing long enough. Maybe now he would get some answers.

  But she had said nothing. Instead, she started undressing him. When he protested, she began doing things to him with her fingernails that drove all questions about mysterious liquids from his mind.

  Questions could wait. Everything could wait.

  Jack floated now on a languorous river of sensation, leading he knew not where. He had tried to take the helm but had given up, yielding to her superior knowledge of the various currents and tributaries alone the way. As far as he was concerned, Kolabati could steer him wherever she wished. They had explored new territories last night and more tonight. He was ready to push the frontiers back even further. He only hoped he could stay afloat during the ensuing excursions.

  Kolabati was just beginning to guide him into the latest adventure when the odor returned. Just a trace, but enough to recognize as the same unforgettable stench as last night.

  If Kolabati noticed it, too, she said nothing. But she immediately rose to her knees and swung her hips over him. As she settled astride his lap with a little sigh, she clamped her lips over his. This was the most conventional position they had used all night. Jack found her rhythm and began moving with her but, just like last night when the odor had invaded the apartment, he sensed a strange tension in her that took the edge off his ardor.

  And the odor… it was nauseating, growing stronger and stronger, filling the air around them. It seemed to flow from the tv room. Jack raised his head from Kolabati’s throat where he had been nuzzling around her iron necklace. Over the rise and fall of her right shoulder he could look into the dark of that room. He saw nothing—

  A noise.

  A click, really, much like the whirring air conditioner in the tv room made from time to time. B
ut different. Slightly louder. A little more solid. Something about it alerted Jack. He kept his eyes open…

  And as he watched, two pairs of yellow eyes began to glow outside the tv room window.

  It had to be a trick of the light. He squinted for a better look, but the eyes remained. They moved around, as if searching for something. One of the pair fixed on Jack for an instant. An icy fingernail scored the outer wall of his heart as he stared into those glowing yellow orbs… like looking into the very soul of evil. He felt himself wither inside Kolabati. He wanted to throw her off, run to the old oak secretary, pull out every gun behind the panel in its base and fire them out the window two at a time.

  But he could not move! Fear as he had never known it gripped him in a clammy fist and pinned him to the couch. He was paralyzed by the alienness of those eyes and the sheer malevolence behind them.

  Kolabati had to be aware that something was wrong—there was no way she could not be. She leaned back and looked at him.

  “What do you see?” Her eyes were wide and her voice barely audible.

  “Eyes,” Jack said. “Yellow eyes. Two pairs.”

  She caught her breath. “In the other room?”

  “Outside the window.”

  “Don’t move, don’t say another word.”

  “But—”

  “For both our sakes. Please.”

  Jack neither moved nor spoke. He stared at Kolabati’s face, trying to read it. She was afraid, but anything beyond that was closed off to him. Why hadn’t she been surprised when he told her there were eyes watching from the other side of a third-story window with no fire escape?

  He glanced over her shoulder again. The eyes were still there, still searching for something. What? They appeared confused, and even when they looked directly at him, they did not seem to see him. Their gaze slid off him, slithered around him, passed through him.

  This is crazy! Why am I sitting here?

  He was angry with himself for yielding so easily to fear of the unknown. There was some sort of animal out there—two of them. Nothing he couldn’t deal with.

  As Jack started to lift Kolabati off him, she gave a little cry. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a near stranglehold and dug her knees into his hips.

  “Don’t move!” Her voice was hushed and frantic.

  “Let me up.” He tried to slide out from under but she twisted around and pulled him down on top of her. It would have been comical but for her very genuine terror.

  “Don’t leave me!”

  “I’m going to see what’s out there.”

  “No! If you value your life you’ll stay right where you are!”

  This was beginning to sound like a bad movie.

  “Come on! What could be out there?”

  “Better you never find out.”

  That did it. He gently but firmly tried to disengage himself from Kolabati. She protested all the way and would not let go of his neck. Had she gone crazy? What was wrong with her?

  He finally managed to gain his feet with Kolabati still clinging to him, and had to drag her with him to the tv room door.

  The eyes were gone.

  Jack stumbled to the window. Nothing there. And nothing visible in the darkness of the alley below. He turned within the circle of Kolabati’s arms.

  “What was out there?”

  Her expression was charmingly innocent. “You saw for yourself: nothing.”

  She released him and walked back into the front room, completely un-selfconscious in her nakedness. Jack watched the swaying flare of her hips silhouetted in the light as she walked away. Something had happened here tonight and Kolabati knew what it was. But Jack was at a loss as to how to make her tell him. He had failed to learn anything about Grace’s tonic—and now this.

  “Why were you so afraid?” he said, following her.

  “I wasn’t afraid.” She began to slip into her underwear.

  He mimicked her: “’If you value your life’ and whatever else you said. You were scared! Of what?”

  “Jack, I love you dearly,” she said in a voice that did not quite carry all the carefree lightness she no doubt intended it to, “but you can be so silly at times. It was just a game.”

  Jack could see the pointlessness of pursuing this any further. She had no intention of telling him anything. He watched her finish dressing—it didn’t take long; she hadn’t been wearing much—with a sense of déjà-vu. Hadn’t they played this scene last night?

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I have to—”

  “—see your brother?”

  She looked at him. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Kolabati stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry to run off like this again.” She kissed him. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be out of town.”

  “Monday, then?”

  He held back from saying yes.

  “I don’t know. I’m not too crazy about our routine: We come here, we make love, a stink comes into the room, you get uptight and cling to me like a second skin, the stink goes away, you take off.”

  Kolabati kissed him again and Jack felt himself begin to respond. She had her ways, this Indian woman. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just am,” she said with a smile.

  Jack let her out, then locked the door behind her. Still naked, he went back to the window in the tv room and stood there looking out at the dark. The beach scene was barely visible on the shadowed wall across the alley. Nothing moved, no eyes glowed. He wasn’t crazy and he didn’t do drugs. Something—two somethings—had been out there tonight. Two pairs of yellow eyes had been looking in. Something about those eyes was familiar but he couldn’t quite make the connection. Jack didn’t push it. It would come sooner or later.

  His attention was drawn to the sill outside his window where he saw three long white scratches in the concrete. He was sure they had never been there before. He was puzzled and uneasy, angry and frustrated—and what could he do? She was gone.

  He walked through the front room to get a beer. On the way, he glanced at the shelf on the big hutch where he had left the bottle of herbal mixture after taking the swallow.

  It was gone.

  14

  Kolabati hurried toward Central Park West. This was a residential district with trees near the curb and cars lining both sides of the street. Nice in the daytime, but at night there were too many deep shadows, too many dark hiding places. It was not rakoshi she feared—not while she wore her necklace. It was humans. And with good reason: Look what had happened Wednesday night because a hoodlum thought an iron and topaz necklace looked valuable.

  She relaxed when she reached Central Park West. There was plenty of traffic there despite the lateness of the hour, and the sodium lamps high over the street made the very air around her seem to glow. Empty cabs cruised by. She let them pass. There was something she had to do before she flagged one down.

  Kolabati walked along the curb until she found a sewer grate. She reached into her purse and removed the bottle of rakoshi elixir. She hadn’t liked stealing it from Jack, for she would have to fabricate a convincing explanation later. But it was his safety that counted, and to assure that, she would steal from him again and again.

  She unscrewed the cap and poured the green mixture down the sewer, waiting until the last drop fell.

  She sighed with relief. Jack was safe. No more rakoshi would come looking for him.

  She sensed someone behind her and turned. An elderly woman stood a few dozen feet away, watching her bend over the sewer grate. A nosey old biddy. Kolabati was repulsed by her wrinkles and stooped posture. She never wanted to be that old.

  As Kolabati straightened up, she recapped the bottle and returned it to her purse. She would save that for Kusum.

  Yes, dear brother, she thought with determination, I don’t know how, or to what end,
but I know you’re involved. And soon I’ll have the answers.

  15

  Kusum stood in the engine room at the stern of his ship, every cell in his body vibrating in time to the diesel monstrosities on either side of him. The drone, the roar, the clatter of twin engines capable of generating a total of nearly 3,000 b.h.p. at peak battered his eardrums. A man could die screaming down here in the bowels of the ship and no one on the deck directly above would hear him; with the engines running, he wouldn’t even hear himself.

  Bowels of the ship… how apt. Pipes like masses of intestines coursed through the air, along the walls, under the catwalks, vertically, horizontally, diagonally.

  The engines were warm. Time to get the crew.

  The dozen or so rakoshi he had been training to run the ship had been doing well, but he wanted to keep them sharp. He wanted to be able to take his ship to sea on short notice. Hopefully that necessity would not arise, but the events of the past few days had made him wary of taking anything for granted. Tonight had only compounded his unease.

  His mood was grim as he left the engine room. Again the Mother and her youngling had returned empty-handed. That meant only one thing. Jack had tried the elixir again and Kolabati had been there to protect him… with her body.

  The thought filled Kusum with despair. Kolabati was destroying herself. She had spent too much time among westerners. She had already absorbed too many of their habits of dress. What other foul habits had she picked up? He had to find a way to save her from herself.

  But not tonight. He had his own personal concerns: His evening prayers had been said; he had made his thrice-daily offering of water and sesame… He would make an offering more to the Goddess’s taste tomorrow night. Now he was ready for work. There would be no punishment for the rakoshi tonight, only work.